Sarelia’s eyes dart between mine, and she sways on her feet. “My goodness, you did,” she breathes, fingers sliding up her forearms to hug herself. “You changed your mind.”
What a ridiculous notion, I think, but do not say. The light of horror beyond her hazel irises feeds me, extending the bout of uncertainty and nervousness flowing through my own chest. We are one, in this moment, together in our terror and our doubts.
Then, she sways again, and I curse.
Selfish, Archie. Your bride is swooning scared. At least have her sit down before you revel in the goosebumps along her flesh.
“Here,” I murmur, relocating a houseplant to the porch floor and offering Sarelia the stool it previously sat on. I dust away the leftover dirt, presenting it to her. “Sit.”
She does, all but collapsing onto the stool as she mutters, “Of course he’s changed his mind, Sarelia. Don’t be ridiculous. It was a fool’s hope in the first place.”
Oh, the rival to wedding bells everywhere: bridal doubt.
“I am quite planning to marry you still, my love,” I assure, stroking a lock of soft, honeysuckle hair behind her ear. “I apologize for worrying you. I simply wanted to soak in the moments of anticipatory terror beforehand.”
She blinks, then whispers, horrified, “Terror? Marrying me is terror?”
I tut. Did she not hear me before, when I told her my vows? Shall I recite them again? “The unknown is terror, dear Sarelia. Notyou.” Not yet, anyway, though I long for the days when she might be. To have Sarelia as terror by my side? I shiver.
No. I cannot entertain such luscious thoughts before we’ve said ourI dos. They’re much too tempting, and ravishing my bride on Stryker’s porch before she becomes my wife isnotgentlemanly conduct.
Speaking of…
I swipe a sneaky little kiss across Sarelia’s forehead before turning to the large, arched door and slamming the knocker one, two, three times.
“Finally!” Millie’s voice sounds on the other side of the wood as the door creaks open, Stryker himself hefting it aside so that he may scowl at me from his entryway.
“Are you done loitering on my doorstep with your unsanctioned guest now?” he asks, crossing his massive arms over his massive chest.
Millie peeks past his shoulder with wide, inquisitive eyes aimed at Sarelia.
“He brought a princess!” she squeals, giving Sarelia a big, welcoming smile. “Hello!”
Sarelia’s eyelashes flutter against her cheeks, and she smiles back while her fingers twist in her lap. “Hello.”
“Oh. My. Gosh. She evensoundslike a princess,” Millie whispers, squeezing Stryker’s arm.
He grunts. “Why have you brought a princess to my house?” he asks. “The only princess that belongs here is my wife.”
One of my eyebrows creeps up on my forehead. Millie? A princess? Is he kidding me?
His narrowing eyes indicate he does not believe himself to be kidding.
Wild, that.
I clear my throat, making the incredibly mature decision not to argue over his delusions. Sure, Millie is great or whatever, but she’s not aprincess.
Sarelia, though…
I turn to her and let my eyes roam over the soft waves of her hair, admiring the gentle sweep of half the dark honey tresses into a sweet white bow. Her hair flows down, over the slope of her shoulders and further, covering much, but not all of the bodice of a dress that happens to be the princessiest of all princess dresses. Pink, corseted, and flowy, it lays over a white floral blouse which puffs at the sleeves.
Soprincess.
Meanwhile, Millie is wearing…sweatpants.Stryker’ssweatpants, it appears, rolled up so much at the waist that the bump created from the rolls is visible even with the size gargantuan T-shirt she has on over them, also Stryker’s.
Mm, yeah. I think we all know who’s the princess here.
All of us except Stryker, that is.
